The Thing

The Thing is a roadside attraction an hour and a half East of Tuscan, Arizona on Interstate 10.  I had never heard of it until I was on the road to Benson with my Mother and Aunt.  They told me that once when they were kids Grama and Grampa stopped to get some gas at a service station near the attraction, and they begged to go in and see what The Thing was.  My Grandparents, being as poor as they were, refused, and they continued on their way. 

My Grandparents, Mother, Aunt, and Uncle moved to Benson, Arizona sometime after February in 1976 from Los Angeles, California.  My Grandfather’s mother had died, and I suppose he felt there was not much keeping him where he grew up.  I do not know why my grandparents chose a place so small, and so remote, as Benson, but I think they must have felt a relief getting away from the smog and heat of the dog days in L.A.

40 years later, the three of us were making our way East for Benson.  My grandfather had been gone for almost a year to the day, and I think we all, upon seeing the billboards wondered where we were going, or at least I was.  I had heard stories of the town all through my childhood; all of the misadventures my mother took.  I suppose I had conjured up some image of the place, but as we drew closer and the desert freeway passed behind us I began to wonder, “what is it?”